


Pain

by Alternatively



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 23:26:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19328248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alternatively/pseuds/Alternatively
Summary: If Remus Lupin wasn't the only member of the Order plagued by the moon.





	Pain

**Tonks**

Tonks dumped the bags of groceries down on the kitchen table.

“You’re an ungrateful bastard, you know that?”

Sirius pounced on the bags and glanced up at her, blood shot eyes wild.

“Sorry.” He said unapologetically, “Been up all night with Moony.” He started rifling through the bags.

The combination of lower back ache and the nasty sharp scraping pain sitting low in her abdomen was making her sweaty and bad-tempered. He did not seem to appreciate that she’d thrown a coat on over her pyjamas to go and fetch groceries for them on short notice.

“ _Oi!”_

“What?” Sirius looked up again.

She glared at him and gestured to the groceries.

“Oh. Thanks.”

“No problem. Should be in bed doped up to the eyeballs on pain potion, but instead I’m apparating round the place getting you doughnuts.”

Sirius froze.

“ _Doughnuts?!”_

Tonks rolled her eyes.

“Other bag, idiot.”

She found herself grinning reluctantly as he fished the paper bag out and held it aloft like it was sacred.

“Tonks. These are _still warm._ ”

“I’ll take that as sincere appreciation then,”

She’d lost him again. He was scrabbling at the paper bag and gingerly lifting out a doughnut like it was the best thing he’d ever seen.

He took a bite and closed his eyes.

_Time to go. Get back to bed before you get more lightheaded. Maybe take the bus._

_Urgh. No._

She waited while he chewed and swallowed.

“How’s Remus?”

“Hmm? Oh, he’ll be right. He’s in bed feeling sorry for himself. Always sick as a dog the day after,”

“Funny,”

He flashed her a quick grin that reminded her forcibly that he’d never really grown up. Silly jokes and sugared doughnuts and blithe acceptance of werewolfism as though it were nothing.

“Is he in pain?”

“Huh?” He was engrossed in the doughnut again, “Oh. Yeah, probably.”

What had they done to him in Azkaban? She’d been getting to know them both, curious about her tall, wild cousin wrongly convicted of murder, and secretly fascinated by his quiet librarian-y werewolf friend, but she could never shake the feeling that although he’d survived, Azkaban had broken Sirius somehow. The look of utter desolation she caught in Remus’s eyes occasionally, when he was looking at him… she knew he was desperately glad that Sirius was still alive, but she could see in those moments that he was grieving still for the friend he had lost, the one he’d known all those years ago, the cousin she would never meet.

_Poor darling._

“Has he taken anything for it?”

Sirius put the whole of the rest of the doughnut in his mouth.

“Gnah, bi’ offa martyr.”

_Fuckssake._

“Right.”

He was back in the world of doughnuts.

Tonks swallowed against the queasiness that came with the pain, and headed out into the hall, trying half-heartedly not to walk into anything by keeping one hand on the wall. She considered the tedium of climbing all the stairs, decided apparating was now too risky, took a breath and gripped the banister.

“He won’t see you.”

She turned back and blinked.

Sirius had followed her out. He was paying attention now. Face calm. Dead, almost.

“Why not?”

He shrugged and just stared at her, eyes hollow.

He ran a hand through his shaggy hair.

“Look, Tonks, it’s not that it’s not great, getting to know you, hanging out… playing scrabble and eating pizza and giving Moony a hell, but… we’re broken men. You must know that. No amount of… whatever it is you’re doing is going to change that. It’s too late for us.”

_Half true._

_Oh Sirius._

_I’m so sorry._

_Maybe if there wasn’t a war, maybe we could get you some help, find out what they’ve done to your soul, work out how you’ve been hurt and whether it can be healed…_

_But we’re stuck, and I don’t know what do to for you other than bring you pastries and stupid games and practical jokes…_

_And he’s not broken. And I know it’s easier if you think it’s both of you, both broken, both lost… but he’s not._

_He’s just… suffering._

“I’ll force feed him some pain potion and be on my way,” She pulled the little bottle out of the pocket of her coat and waved it at him.

“He won’t take it,”

“He bloody will.”

He stared at her a moment longer.

“You don’t look well today,”

“I’m not,” she said bluntly, “But thanks for noticing.”

He gave her a thoughtful look and turned back to the kitchen.

“You’ve been warned,” he said, and as he vanished she heard the grocery bags start rustling again.

Tonks dragged herself up two flights of stairs, pausing every so often to breathe and wipe sweat off her forehead.

_Damn period. Why can’t they fucking fix this? So bloody vulnerable. The absolute bitter irony that I can change my outsides but not my insides..._

She’d never been into his room at Grimmauld Place. Knew where it was though. It was the kind of thing she noticed.

She’d been planning on knocking first.

That was before she stumbled over her own feet, tried to regain her balance by grabbing hold of a rickety hall table, and succeeded only in knocking the very ugly _Chinoiserie_ vase onto the floor where it bounced twice and rolled to a stop by his door.

Tonks figured the combination of thunks plus her accidental swearing were probably enough of an announcement, so she just barged in, expecting to see him sitting there reading, because that seemed like a thing he would do if he was laid up in bed…

The room he’d chosen was small by comparison to the others in Grimmauld Place. It had the standard four poster bed, and an armchair by the fireplace, and his trunk was tucked in neatly beside the large obnoxious wardrobe. There was a small pile of books on the little desk, and a glass of water on the bedside table. The heavy brocade curtains were pulled half closed, so the bed and most of the room was dim, except for a bright stripe of light on the faded carpet to one side.

Remus Lupin was not reading.

He was very grey.

He smiled faintly as she entered… at least, she thought he did. He was lying limply in bed. Bathed in shadows.

“Nymphadora,” His voice sounded weak. “You must excuse-”

“I’m not in the mood,” she said crossly, stomping over to him, appalled at herself for being surprised to see him looking so sickly. “Sirius says you’re in pain,”

“Well-”

“He also says you won’t take anything for it,”

“It’s not necess-”

“It is,” she said, “So you’ll take it.”

She held out the bottle and held his gaze for a moment.

“Are you feeling ok?” He asked gently.

_Bastard._

_Don’t you dare make me cry!_

“I’d feel better if you’d take the damn potion.”

He swallowed, and tried to move his hand. His eyelids fluttered and he stopped.

_Merlin. Had no idea it was this bad._

“You’re insane,” she said crossly, uncorking the bottle and conjuring up a tiny measuring cup. She poured out the recommended dose and levitated the liquid to hover over him. If he couldn’t move his hand, there was no way she was going to get him to sit up.

“I’m fine,”

“I can pour this on the pillow if you’d prefer.”

He gave a faint smile.

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

He closed his eyes, and opened his mouth, like he couldn’t look at her, like despite his impossible ability to look serene, he couldn’t bear to see her looking at him prone and powerless like this. She let the potion trickle into his mouth slowly, and winced as he coughed and spluttered. He swallowed and opened his eyes again.

“Thank you.” It came out as a croak this time.

“You didn’t check it was me,” It struck her suddenly. “What if that’d been poison! What if-”

“I always know it’s you,” he said quietly, “Consider it a side effect.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Those grey eyes measured her for a moment. He gave a little sigh, like he was letting go of all hope.

“You have a distinctive scent. Even when you look like a fat forty-year-old warlock on minimum wage,”

One of her better disguises.

Finding out that untransformed werewolves could identify people based on smell ought to have been alarming.

_I feel flattered._

_Fuck._

_Whatever._

She stared down at him. He met her gaze. Unreadable. She had the sense he was waiting to be told he was unlovable. Waiting for her to recoil from the idea that he could smell her.

She grit her teeth as sharp stabbing pain cut through just inside her right hip, in the place she vaguely assumed was an ovary.

She felt suddenly very cold and clammy.

This was it. She knew it well. This was the moment before it all came crashing down on her, she would have maybe two minutes to take the potion or face excruciating pain, possibly with a side order of vomiting and fainting.

“You don’t look well,”

“I’m not,” she snapped. “And neither are you,”

She poured herself a measure of potion. Knocked it back, and put the bottle on the bedside table. Walked around to the other side of the bed, kicked her boots off, unbuttoned her coat with shaking hands and dumped it on the armchair- or tried to, it slithered to the ground- and pulled the covers back to climb weakly in beside him.

“Nympha-”

“Don’t call me that, I’m not in the mood,” she said irritably, “I feel like hell, and I’ve nearly burnt through all my fricking sick leave because I’m a pathetic excuse for a woman, and can’t handle a simple period without heavy duty painkillers and two days in bed, and I thought I’d be fine fetching you ungrateful sods some sodding groceries, but I’m bloody _not_ and I just walked up all those fucking stairs, and I’m _so sorry,_ I’m a selfish bitch, I didn’t realise, I’ll make sure you’ve got some wolfsbane for next time, what’s the point of an Auror’s salary if you can’t spend it, so don’t argue-”

“Tonks-”

“Don’t call me that either!”

She shifted gingerly onto her side, and curled protectively around her pain.

“You shouldn’t be here,”

She snorted.

“Why?”

“I’m… dangerous.”

The back ache, the sensation of bent metal skewers scraping out her insides, and the stabbing ovary pain were all at once swamped by an agony so intense she couldn’t see.

She gasped, and held her breath, unthinking, caught in the moment, paused, brain shorting out, consumed by pain.

It let go of her and the room swam back into focus.

“Bullshit.” She said quietly. “The werewolf might be dangerous, but you’re not.”

“I _am_ the were-”

“Yeah, right, and I’m a menstrual cycle.” She said dryly, “Try that shitty excuse on someone who doesn’t know what it’s like to be rendered sub-human once a month,”

A pause.

“I’m sorry that-”

“Don’t you get _tired_ of telling yourself you’re the worst thing imaginable? Can’t you just… accept that…” The potion was starting to kick in. _Urgh, thank you!_ The room wheeled about drunkenly. “You’re a lovely person with… with a… problem that’s not your fault…”

“Where’s Sirius?”

“Downstairs eating doughnuts,”

She paused again as another wave hit her, all other sensation drowned out by pain.

When it passed, she swallowed against the faint metallic taste in her mouth, and vaguely hoped she’d taken the potion early enough to avoid vomiting.

_You should not have risked going out today._

_You’re not well._

“You’re not well,” He said, “And I am not in any state to care for you,”

“Eh, I’d be at home by myself otherwise, don’t beat yourself up. It’s just period pain,” She said mockingly. The blissfully odd feeling of floating was starting to take hold. The usual pain was still there, just somehow further away. When the next wave hit, she’d be able to keep breathing. “Which bits of you hurt?”

Silence.

 “It’s your own fault if I hurt you then.”

She dragged herself closer and lightly tucked her hand around his upper arm, shifting her head over to rest on his pillow just above his shoulder.

“You really shouldn’ be here…” His speech was starting to slur, words slipping into each other.

“There’s nothing you can do to stop me…”

… _loving you…_

She managed not to say it out loud, but her head was swimming, and sleep was starting to creep up on her, and her body felt warm in that potion-induced way that masked the pain and made it possible to drift into that strange enchanted dreamless sleep and she’d never thought about him like that before, never thought those words, never thought that loving him meant really _loving_ him rather than just loving him the way she loved the other people in her life…

“Dora, you really shouldn’,”

His hand was covering hers now, on his arm, fingers light.

“Mmm, neither should you…”

“Dora,”

“Remus,”

“Th’s very strong,”

“You’re welcome,”

“Why d’you …”

“Tol’ you… ”

“Mus’ be _really…”_

“Yes,”

“H’mm sorry-”

“Shhh… sleep now…”

The potion made her heavy, hot and heavy, sinking into the mattress, vaguely aware of the brutal agony ripping through her abdomen, but somehow unable to attach to it. She had the horrible sensation of freefalling as she slipped into potion-induced sleep, desperately grateful that she’d taken it in time, desperately grateful it existed.

Her last waking thought was an echo of sensation. A sense of being tethered, her hand on his arm, his hand on her hand, awash with relief that he’d be there when she woke up…

 

**Lupin.**

She’d been so insistent.

Remus hadn’t the energy to argue, or the will to point out that as a werewolf he’d need a stronger dose if she actually wanted it to work.

He was holding the pounding headache as lightly as he could, and he was trying, _god_ he was trying, to let the bones and tendons and muscles settle back into their human configuration without… well there wasn’t much point in anything really, it was just the strange mental exercise of _waiting_ through the pain. Just… being. Being long enough until it passed.

He’d winced at the noise in the hallway. His heart had leapt and sunk at the thought of her.

_Don’t._

_Don’t hope she’s coming to check on you._

_Don’t. That’s pathetic._

_Maybe she should see you like this. Understand what it is to be cursed this way._

But then there she was, and her hair was brownish, which it shouldn’t be, and sticking to her temples with sweat, and her face was greenish, but not on purpose, and she was demanding he take the potion, so he did. Swallowed it, with his shame.

_She’s not well._

He knew why. He could smell that on her too.

He’d always felt uncomfortable knowing these things about women. It felt impolite, invasive, to know without being told.

He couldn’t admit to it though. Not completely.

He waited for her to leave. Waited for her to be uncomfortable, make an excuse…

But it just seemed to make her angry.

And then something happened.

Her face went greyish. It came over like a cloud, gradual but fast, even the green draining from her face. It was like watching the life be sucked out of her.

“You don’t look well,”

“I’m not,” she’d snapped. “And neither are you,”

He watched as she downed a shot of potion with shaking hands, lurched around to the other side of the bed and clambered in.

_You shouldn’t be here._

She was ranting now. Calling herself pathetic. Which she wasn’t. She was radiant, she was like _living_ , and the days when she turned up with a bottle of wine and some takeaway food, and some ridiculous game for the three of them to play were just _heaven_ and did she _know_ that she brought them life when she did that? Did she have any idea that each time she visited she bought them more time? Could she see that being Moody’s favourite _meant_ something? That she was formidable, and outrageous, and if she _tried_ to purchase wolfsbane, she’d be put on the register, it was not a sensible thing to do, not at all-

He watched as she curled up beside him.

She was angry because she was scared.

But not of him.

“You shouldn’t be here,”

 “Why?”

“I’m… dangerous.”

_You should be scared of me._

_What are you scared of that’s worse than me?_

“Try that shitty excuse on someone who doesn’t know what it’s like to be rendered sub-human once a month,”

He stiffened and tried not to feel wildly insulted. How dare she? Comparing a natural process, one that even muggles experienced, something fundamentally _human_ with what he went through every month, with the absolute shame, the wrenching agony, the complete, devastating brutal transformation, unnatural, ungodly, rejected by all as abhorrent, as an aberration, a disease most foul, murderous without motive… his life was a travesty, and yet there she was, breathing pain into his pillow and comparing his curse with her period.

 “I’m sorry that-”

“Don’t you get _tired_ of telling yourself you’re the worst thing imaginable? Can’t you just… accept that… You’re a lovely person with… with a… problem that’s not your fault…”

_I’m not a lovely person. I’m a monster. The fact that you can’t see that puts you at risk. You’re a lamb climbing into bed with a wolf. You’re not safe._

_Why the hell isn’t Sirius putting a stop to this? He should know better. He was there in sixth year, with Elise, when she followed me- it could have gone horribly wrong. Why isn’t he here?_

“Where’s Sirius?”

“Downstairs eating doughnuts,”

For a moment she seemed fine, and he’d been about to demand she go downstairs and fetch him, but then… it hit again, whatever it was, and it drew up searing memories of watching an injured deer die. Still, and on the ground, bleeding out. Waiting.

“You’re not well,” He said, minutes later, when it had passed, “And I am not in any state to care for you,”

She dismissed this as unimportant, and put it back to him, to his pain, to his suffering.

He could hear the sound of his heartbeat in his head, the headache pounding out each note, but it seemed further away than before. It was distracting. His joints… felt far away.

Something was happening to him. His eyelids felt heavy.

Her fingers on his arm.

_Don’t._

_Don’t make this seem normal._

_Don’t turn to me for comfort._

_Don’t comfort me…_

“You really shouldn’ be here…” He couldn’t focus properly, “Dora, you really shouldn’,”

He tried to move her hand away, taking advantage of how distant the pain was now, thrumming in the background, joints creaking… but he couldn’t bring himself to push her away, his hand just wanted to rest there…

 “Dora,”

“Remus,”

“Th’s very strong,”

It shouldn’t be affecting him like this. He could barely keep his eyes open, and the room was shifting slowly, giving him a strangely seasick feeling, drifting in and out of focus…

_This is ridiculously strong._

_Dora. I didn’t know. I’m sorry. But you should go- it’s not… don’t identify with… it’s not the same, it’s not contagious, you can’t… I’m dangerous, I’m…_

“Shhh… sleep now…”

Remus wished he hadn’t taken it.

He fought it.

Tried to stay awake. Listen to her breathing. Make sure she was safe.

But the potion was very strong.

He thought Sirius came in to check on them at one point.

Begged him to stay.

Panicked, confused, slipping, trying to hold on to consciousness.

Sirius laughing, leaping onto the bed as Padfoot and curling up across his legs.

Relief. Relief that he was there. The big black dog running interference. Like in the old days.

Or maybe he dreamt that part…

“All right, Remus?” her voice, brisk and cheerful.

He blinked at her, dizzy with the aftereffects of the potion. The light was different. Early morning.

“Leaves you feeling rough, hey,” she yawned, and started gradually inching up into a seated position, “Don’t get up too fast,”

He shifted and discovered his limbs all worked. He flexed his fingers.

A little achy. Back to normal.

“What happened?”

“Strong drugs, and hey presto, it’s tomorrow,” she said brightly, “I find it psychologically less wearing than writhing in literal agony and wishing I was dead,”

He regarded her thoughtfully. She still looked peaky, but she’d turned her hair fairy floss pink. He had a dark suspicion she was putting on a brave face.

“Dora, have you seen a healer?”

She rolled her eyes at him.

“I’ve seen dozens. Believe me, that potion is not off the shelf.”

“No. It takes a lot to knock out a werewolf,” He started easing himself up, but she made an impatient noise.

He glanced back to her.

“Well, I don’t wander around telling everyone I’m a bad period,”

“Yes, I believe you made that point yesterday,” he didn’t mean for it to come out that way. Sort of… clipped and disapproving. Dry. Patronising.

Silence clung between them.

He closed his eyes.

_I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it like that. Don’t hate me._

_Yes. Please hate me. Go. Stay safe._

_Above all, think of me as a werewolf. That’s all I can ever be to you._

Too quickly for him to react; her hand on the side of his face, her lips on his cheek, a smacking kiss, and she was sliding out of bed, wincing as she bent to pick up her boots and coat, trying to hide whatever pain she still felt, and she was out the door, and her final words were like a punch in the gut, because he realised he would have to do it, she was right…

“You’ll have to try a lot harder than that if you want me to hate you, sweetheart,”

And he knew she was joking, she didn’t mean it, she was throwing out a term of affection to put him in his place, minimise the werewolfism down to nothing, like it was a self-indulgent tantrum he was throwing, but when she said it, _god_ when she said it, he so wanted it to be true.

And then he didn’t.

_Please… please don’t love me._

She didn’t let anyone else call her Dora.  But wrapped in pain, she wouldn’t let him call her anything else.

When Sirius strolled in with two cups of strong black coffee and a packet of biscuits under one arm to find him vanishing sick off the carpet, Remus lied and said the potion had disagreed with him.


End file.
